


No Greater Love

by danajeanne



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 10:05:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danajeanne/pseuds/danajeanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a surprise party for Peter until an explosion surprises everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Greater Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is my late addition to the WC H/C Advent Fic and my first actual WC story. For some reason I haven't been able to download it to LJ as it seems to have been down for the last few days. Many thanks to RabidChild and Iamhere for the beta!!

"Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." John 15:13  
___________________________________________________________   
BOMB.

The word battered his mind as the thunder of falling bricks, wood and plaster reverberated through the ruins of the restaurant. Neal gasped and coughed, attempting to clear the cloying dust from his lungs. Moisture leaked from the corners of his eyes, and he blinked, trying to see around the hazy room. 

A sudden sharp crack drew his attention to the twisted structure. The ominous creaking above his head left no doubt in his mind, the two floors above him were soon going to collapse and bury everything on the ground floor. Neal winced as an overhead timber snapped. The ceiling was going to go any second and when it did…  
He had to find Peter. And he had to find him now.

***** 

Peter stuck his head around the door of the conference room to find his entire team gathered about the table, heads bent close together. The setting sun had darkened the room and he switched on the lights.

He grinned as three heads jerked up. “If you’re planning a mutiny, forget about it.” Three sets of eyes stared at him in various shades of guilt. No, not Neal’s, his were guilt free. “However, if you’re planning a surprise birthday party, just let me know when to show up and act surprised.”

Neal feigned disgust and flapped one hand at him. “Can’t get anything past you, can we?”

“I’ve been reading your mind for years, Neal. Face it, trying to surprise me is a lost cause.” He glanced over at Diana just in time to catch the tail end of her sarcastic expression. “That’s ‘roll your eyes,’ BOSS, Diana.”

“Yes, boss,” she grinned, leaning back in her chair.

Peter smiled back. “Tonight feels like it should be a team-bonding time. Anybody feel like buying me dinner at that brewpub I like?”

“And we should buy you dinner, because…?” Neal’s eyebrows aimed for the top of his head.

“It’s my birthday tomorrow?” Peter shot back. “Need a ride, Neal?”

“I’ve got it,” Neal replied.

“7 o’clock. Don’t be late.” Peter pointed his finger at Neal.

“Peter. I’m never late.” Neal protested with a hurt expression on his face.

“Uh-huh,” was Peter’s only response as he left the room.

“Good-bye, Peter,” Neal called after him.

Diana got up and shut the door. “We should have done that in the first place,” she said, sitting back down. “Now. About that no-longer-a-surprise birthday party…”

“Think we can get everyone there tonight instead of Saturday? They can come in after us; we’ll reserve a few tables, he’ll never guess.” Neal smiled when the others nodded. “I’ll let June and Elizabeth know there’s been a change; we’ll probably ride with June.”

*~*~*~*~* 

June dropped Neal around the corner from the restaurant while she went to park the car. She and Elizabeth would wait till the rest of Peter’s team arrived and go in behind them. 

Neal pushed the door open and looked around the room. Peter raised his head just as Neal spotted him and started over to him, weaving through the various tables, chairs, and brewery displays. As they made eye contact, Neal’s face lit up, a smile stretching from ear to ear. It was a seldom-seen smile, and when it did appear it was for Peter or El only.

“Hey,” Neal said softly.

“Hey.” Peter pulled out the chair next to him.

“Small table,” Neal commented as he sat down, his knee gently touching Peter’s.

“Busy place. Not much space available. Supposedly.” Peter shot a curious glance toward the several larger tables on the other side of the room.

Neal just smiled.

“You’re early,” Peter said. “Where are Jones and Diana?”

“On their way. I had to stop at my place and June dropped me off on her way to a meeting.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly. June did drop him off and you could call this dinner a meeting. He glanced at the table and helped himself to the beer sitting in front of Peter.

“Hey! Get your own.”

Neal took a gulp, wrinkled his nose, and gave the beer back. “This is not beer, it’s colored water. I’ll be right back.” As he made his way across the room he saw Diana coming in the door and waved her towards the table. She made a drinking motion with her hand and he nodded in acquiescence.

As Neal stood at the bar waiting for the drinks, he glanced back at the table and simply watched Peter. He watched as Peter took a drink from his bottle. He watched his Adam’s apple bob as the liquid went down. He watched his tongue dart out to swipe across his lips. Standing there, Neal could almost feel that tongue as it licked along his own body, tickled his nipples, his navel, and slid down the creases between his hips and his legs….

Bam!

Suddenly he flew backwards, landing with a thud on the floor. A cacophony of sounds intruded into his daydream as Peter disappeared from view, and thrust him rudely back into reality.

*~*~*~*~*~* 

"Peter," he coughed. 

If Neal couldn’t even hear his own voice, how could anyone else? He could barely see through the dust floating around. The table was gone and in its place was a pile of rubble.

His ears were still clanging from the deafening sound of the explosion so he barely heard it at first. Someone was frantically calling his name. Help…he needed to get help. He had to find someone to help him find Peter. Or was that Peter? He couldn’t tell, he could barely hear, or breathe, or…God, where was Peter?

"I’m here!" Neal croaked as he launched himself toward the sound. He reeled drunkenly through the rubble of what had once been the Phantom Canyon Brewing Co., and had only taken a couple of steps before he slammed his shin against something sharp. He tried to shove whatever it was out of his way, cursing at its heaviness, before simply falling over it and continuing to stumble toward a light he desperately hoped was a way out.

A hand grabbed hold of his arm and yanked him out into the light of day.

"Neal! Are you all right?" It was Elizabeth, white-faced with shock, tears making dusty tracks down her face. Throwing her arms around him, she hugged him tightly in relief.

"P—," Neal attempted to clear his parched throat, suck in air and try again. "Peter? Where’s Peter?" His eyes darted around frantically.

"Peter was here already? He was inside? He was early? Neal? Was Peter inside?" Elizabeth shouted at him, trying to get his attention.

"He’s not out here? Peter’s not out here?"

Elizabeth’s eyes darted to the door. "Peter’s still in there? Neal?" She shook Neal by the shoulders and yelled into his ear. "Where’s Peter? Is he in there? Is he hurt? Oh my god, I need to get him out…"

It finally penetrated Neal’s dazed mind that Peter was not outside and therefore must still be inside the restaurant. Elizabeth was still clinging to him and shouting at him, her face red and blotchy with tears. He glanced around, saw Jones, and turned Elizabeth toward him.

"Peter’s still inside."

"So is Diana," Jones shouted back. "Let the firemen… Neal, let the firemen…"

Jones’ words hung suspended in empty space as Neal spun around and darted back inside. Desperately dodging the wreckage that continued to rain down on him, he tripped, slamming into the floor with a bone-jarring thud. Winded, he dragged himself along the floor, and in a strange moment of quiet, he heard a soft moan. He drew a shaky breath and headed in its direction, glancing quickly at the motionless bodies trapped in the debris. Through the soot and dust he could just make out a mound across the room trying to lift itself off the ground. Someone was alive.

"Peter? Peter?" Neal dove through the wreckage; heedlessly tossing aside the chunks of rubble that were almost burying the body he prayed was Peter’s. His hope was dashed as he grabbed hold of a jacket, realizing whoever it was this person was too small to be Peter. He turned the body over and looked into Diana’s dazed, pain-filled eyes.

Diana? It was Diana.

"Neal? Neal!" 

Neal was still staring dumbly down at his semi-conscious friend when Peter’s voice calling to him penetrated his still blunted senses. Peter. Peter was behind him.  
He turned, still holding on to Diana. Peter was perhaps twelve feet away, in what had been the other side of the room. Peter was alive. He was conscious but… Neal felt a chill, shivered, as the reality of Peter’s present predicament filled him with renewed terror. This place was going to come down around them any second. And Peter—it looked like most of the building was piled up on his legs. Peter was trapped.

Neal glanced down at the half-conscious woman in front of him, and then over to the man he'd been in love with for the past two years. He took in the beams above Peter, pieces of wood that were still held in place by mere splinters, splinters that looked about to let go at any time.

Splinters that did not look like they would give him the time he needed to rescue the woman he held in his arms and the man he loved more than his own life.

Neal stared at Peter.

Peter stared back, grimacing, before smiling gently at him.

There was only one choice, and they both knew it.

Taking a deep breath, Neal began lugging Diana’s limp body toward the front door. Something hit the back of his neck, sharp, hot pain erupting. He stumbled, dropping his burden as he pushed at the broken wood across his back. Gasping in agony from the throbbing pain in his head and shoulders, he grabbed onto a foot and started dragging Diana behind him, blindly hoping nothing else would land on them.

Almost there. Almost there. Get Diana out and go back for Peter. He didn't realize he'd made it to the door until Diana was taken from him and a pair of arms wrapped themselves around his shoulders. Flinching at the touch, he opened his eyes to find Jones in front of him again.

"Peter." Neal said dumbly, lurching back towards the apocalypse behind him. Jones’ arms tightened, holding him back.

"It's too late, Neal. Everything's coming down. You can't go back in there!"

Jones’ face was red from shouting, but Neal ignored him. He vaguely noted there were other people in the area; Elizabeth, sitting still on the asphalt and staring blindly at what was left of the building, her lips moving soundlessly, June’s arms around her; others were lying on stretchers, firemen and paramedics everywhere. He jerked free and stumbled back into the building, tripping over the walls that had fallen in the few minutes it had taken him to get Diana out.

As he floundered about in the debris he kept his eyes glued on Peter, dodging falling masonry and timber as best he could. Twisting his way through the maze, he dropped to his knees beside Peter, coughing from the dust that still hadn’t settled. Peter's mouth was moving; but if he was saying anything Neal couldn't hear it in all the noise around him.

Brown eyes were staring past his shoulder, wide and frightened. Neal glanced up over his shoulder.

They were out of time

He flung himself over Peter's body, wrapping his arms around him and hiding his face in Peter’s dirty, sweaty neck. He briefly felt Peter's arms clutch him, one hand gripping his hair before the entire building imploded, its shattered bulk burying them alive.

We’re dead.

Oh shit...hurts. Not dead, then.

"Peter?"

Neal tried to move, stopping quickly as every nerve ending in his body immediately screamed for attention. What the hell was going on? The last thing he remembered was the world crashing down on him and—

"Peter!"

A warm body beneath him, his partner, the man he loved more than life itself, Peter. Now unmoving underneath him, inert fingers still clutching Neal's matted hair; alive, please god, alive.

"Peter?" Please. Answer me.

His arms were still wrapped firmly around Peter's waist. He gave an experimental jerk, and one arm came free. A gentle tug on the left was both painful and unsuccessful, and he gave up after a moment.

In the darkness of their prison, all he had were his other senses; the cracking of broken bricks, creaking of splintering wood, the smell of dust and the exhilarating feeling of a slow and steady pulse beneath his trembling fingers.

Alive.

"Peter."

The heavy lump in his chest worked its way up to become tears of relief. For now, both he and Peter were alive. By some miracle—or just his natural luck, as Peter would claim— the debris around them had fallen to form a small pocket of safety sheltering them from the crushing debris of the building’s upper floors. Inside this enclosure they at least had air to breathe; hopefully enough to last till rescue arrived.

Rescue. Jones and Diana knew they were here, but did they realize they were still alive? Neal had no idea how badly anyone else in the restaurant had been injured or still needed rescuing; that had been the last thing on his mind as he dragged Diana from the rapidly deteriorating building and returned for Peter.

Neal had no answers. He only knew that of all the places in the world right now, this was where he wanted to be. Held tightly in his lover's arms, even though they were buried under God-knew-how-much rubble; at least they were together.

"Peter, answer me, Peter, answer me please."

If he stayed quite still, and stopped breathing himself, for that brief moment Neal could feel the great vein in Peter's neck pulsing against his cheek as the blood coursed through his unconscious body. As he concentrated on the steady thrumming, other, stronger sensations came into play: the burning pain on the back of his neck, the stabbing agony in his right shin, the lack of feeling in his left foot, the hair on his head pulling against his scalp.

Pulling...

"Peter!" Neal tried to turn his head.

Another yank on his hair, stronger this time, as Peter cleared his throat. Neal smiled as he felt the rumble against his cheek.

"Peter?"

"You ever—," Peter cleared his throat. "You ever do that again…I'll kill you myself!"

"Peter?" Neal was confused and a little hurt.

"Why the hell…did you come back in here…you were out. You were safe…then you came back in."

Peter was panting heavily, and it suddenly occurred to Neal he was sprawled right across Peter's chest, probably making it difficult for him to breathe.

"Peter? I’m squashing you." Neal started to lever himself up.

"No!"

A sharp gasp was followed by an aborted moan from Peter, and Neal stilled.

"What?"

"Just calm down, Neal. Stay still. There’s nowhere for you…to go." Peter patted Neal on the head. "Only thing between…your head and the crap…on top of us is my…hand and about two inches… that's counting those long...hairs of yours."

"Oh. I thought I hurt you, the way you were carrying on," Neal sniffled.

Peter was silent.

"I did, didn’t I? Hurt you. Peter?"

"It’s nothing… Sliced the back of…my hand on whatever's…on top of us…don’t sweat it." Peter pushed down as Neal automatically tried to look. "Stay still. Dammit, Neal. You want a…hair cut?"

"Peter? What's up there?"

There was no answer for a second, and Neal opened his mouth to ask again, when Peter finally spoke.

"How am I…supposed to know? In case you…hadn't noticed, it's blacker…than a moonless night…in here."

"What does it feel like?"

"What…? Sharp. It’s sharp, okay? Satisfied?"

Silence.

"Peter?" Neal finally ventured.

"That’s my…name don’t wear it…out." 

Peter sounded irritable. A crushing load of helplessness washed over Neal, and he held his breath a moment, trying to control it. They were trapped, probably going to die, and he couldn’t help but think of Elizabeth, the third part of their special trio, stuck outside with no idea what was happening here.

"Sorry," Neal muttered miserably. "I just wanted to hear—that is—I mean…"

"Scared?" Peter asked softly, all testiness gone from his voice.

"Um, yeah. A bit."

"Me, too." Peter sighed, patting his head. "Well, Ollie, here’s…another fine mess…you’ve gotten us…into. Completely unnecessarily…I might add. Not that I mind…the company but…why the hell did you come…back into this hell hole?"

Neal didn't answer. What could he say? That he’d been trying to save him, but if he couldn’t… he couldn't bear the thought of living without Peter? That if Peter was about to die, he wanted to go with him? That as much as he loved Elizabeth it was Peter who truly held him, who kept him centered?

"Neal?"

"If it'd been me lying here, trapped, with you rescuing Diana, what would you've done?" Neal asked almost in one breath.

"Doesn't matter— "

"The hell it doesn't!" Neal started to lift his head, only to have it pulled back into the crook of Peter's neck. "I only want to turn my head to the other side," he protested. "Something's digging into my face, and it isn't part of you!"

"Carefully, then."

Slowly Neal raised his head a fraction; turning so his face was pressed to the skin of Peter's collarbone, nose against a raspy chin. He gave a big sigh.

"Better?" Peter asked.

"Yes, thank you," Neal answered politely. Then, a moment later, "…what would you have done?"

"Got any snacks?" Peter asked hopefully.

"No. Stop trying to change the subject. What would you have done if it'd been me stuck in here?" Neal desperately wanted an answer to his question.

"Same thing, all right?" Peter growled, and then lightly chuckled. "We’re both idiots," he admitted, gently ruffling Neal’s hair.

"Yeah, we make it work." Neal carefully snuggled closer and sighed.

Peter hugged him tighter and for a time they simply lay there in each other’s arms. They both knew they would’ve each done what Neal had, and each would be angry that the other had put his own life on the line. It was simply a given; neither wanted the other to die and neither wanted to be left behind. 

"Peter?"

"Neal?" Neal felt Peter's chin move, heard the smile in the one word.

"You’re hurt, aren’t you? And we’re not talking about the hand."

"Got any—"

"Peter!"

"—snacks?" Peter finished weakly. "I’m fine, nothing a few…band-aids can’t fix."

"Why don’t I believe you?"

"No clue, Neal. Besides, it’s…not like you have any…band-aids in your pocket…to help right now."

"Peter."

"Neal."

"How bad is it? Tell me the truth."

Peter sighed. "Pretty sure my leg is…broken. My gut doesn’t…hurt and I’m okay…breathing except for this…great weight on…my chest, so I…don’t think I have…any internal injuries. Feels like world war three…inside my head, though. You?"

"Think my ankle's broken, can't feel my foot. Sliced my shin, head hurts. Back of my neck hurts. My other arm's stuck under you."

"Good thing we're already lying down, then, isn’t it? We’d both fall flat on our faces otherwise."

They were quiet after that, pressed together in the dark, listening to each other breathe, their body positions a parody of lovemaking. Neal was, if not happy, at least content to be here. If this was the end, and they were to die here before help came, at least they were together.

In the darkness before death, secrets could be told. "I'd do it again, you know. Make the deal with you. Die with you," Neal admitted.

"Don't start, Neal, we're not going to die."

"I would."

"I know. I love you, too."

It amazed Neal how Peter always seemed to know exactly what he meant.

"When I saw you…with Diana…leaving me behind…I thought that was it…I’d never…I was glad you…were going to be safe…you’d be with El…but I wasn’t…"

"It’s okay, Peter."

"No, I gotta say this. I know I…tore a strip off…you before, for…coming back for me…but the truth…Neal, I’m glad you’re here. I don’t want to…die…alone."

"You won’t. We…we won’t," Neal promised.

"And you know…this how?"

"You told me we weren’t going to die, Peter."

"Right. Whatever happens…now, it’s okay. It’s you and me, partner."

"Yeah, that’s right," Neal’s voice soothed. "You and me. All the way." He suddenly wanted desperately to see Peter's face. Raising his one mobile arm, he walked his fingers around Peter's head until he reached his face.

"I'm here, Neal."

"Mmm." Gently his fingers stroked a path down a long nose, played with his eyebrows. On one cheek, they slowed, drawing a design in the tears dampening the dust coating Peter’s skin. Peter's arms tightened their hold.

"Scared?" Neal asked quietly.

"For you? Always."

Neal was briefly glad for the dark. "Do you think there’s anything …after? When you die, I mean?"

"Couldn’t tell you. I have...no intention of dying…so it’s not going to be…an issue."

"That’s realistic," Neal snorted.

"You want realism? How about…getting your bony…elbow out…of my kidneys?" 

"You’re lying on my arm, remember? I can’t move it," Neal pointed out. “And it’s not my elbow, it’s my fist.”

"Ooookay. Speaking of kidneys…" Peter hinted.

"You don’t!"

"Yup. You haven’t seen…a toilet nearby, have you?" Peter asked hopefully.

"Trust me, Peter, it’s not nearly long enough to reach," Neal commented dryly.

"Houston, we have…a problem."

"You mean you have a problem, Peter."

"In case you hadn’t…noticed you’re…laying on top of me…with nowhere to go…pardon the expression."

"Dammit, Peter," Neal gasped, banging his forehead against Peter. "I don’t believe you! We’re going to make quite a pretty picture when they finally unearth our corpses. Cheek to cheek, soaked with piss.” He started to giggle, then chuckle; before long he was shaking uncontrollably with hysterical gulping laughs.

"Neal? Stop it. What…the hell's going on?" Peter's voice was tight and anxious. "Neal, don't…bounce on me...your head's...shit, my hand...Neal...damn."

A warm, pungent dampness spread itself between them as an embarrassed silence filled the small enclosure. Neal coughed. "Sorry. I don’t why I was laughing. Besides, there isn't anyone I'd rather play latrine for, Peter. Don't give it another thought."

"Idiot." Peter sniffled wetly.

"Are you crying?" Neal asked incredulously.

"Certainly not," Peter answered, in an offended tone. "It's dusty in here; it’s playing hell with my sinuses."

Neal grunted. "Right. I wonder who blew the place up. And why?"

"Yeah. Wouldn’t mind ruining…their day. They sure as…hell ruined ours. Uh, Neal? Quit moving…around. I know things…have gotten a bit…uncomfortable but…the wiggling isn’t…helping." Peter was beginning to sound slightly exasperated.

"Sorry," Neal said. Silence again. Then, "How long do you think the air’s going to last?"

Warm breath gusted across the bridge of Neal's nose as Peter sighed. "Long enough for me to strangle you if you don't stop this worrying. You'd worry the hair off a dog.

"You love me anyway, though," Neal replied smugly.

"That was a weak moment… If I'd been paying attention, you never…would have gotten under my skin."

“Ha. You never had a chance against my awesomeness.”

In the darkness, words could be said that couldn’t be voiced during the light of day.

“I’m no good at this…El always says I choke…up when I have to…”

“Elizabeth…” Neal whispered. An ache unrelated to the explosion blossomed in his chest.

Peter continued, “I never expected…not both of you…so much love…so afraid you would run…I can’t imagine a life without you.” He cleared his throat. “So afraid you’d be hurt…or killed on a case…wanted so badly to protect you…wrap you and El both in cotton wool…”

“Peter--”

“No, let me…finish.” Peter took a quick breath. “El and I love each other…you completed us…filled a hole we didn’t…know existed and…I love you…so much…you’re…I…the world would be darker without you...” 

Neal was glad the darkness hid the tears he felt sliding down his cheeks. The same darkness that was making Peter so unexpectedly, touchingly eloquent, inspiring his lover to utter these rare but precious words, unexpected but welcome gifts in what might very well be their last moments together.

"If we die here—," Peter had to clear his throat again. "If we die here, I don’t regret…one single second I spent with you, Neal…swear to god."

Very, very carefully Neal moved his head back until his mouth was touching the soft underside of Peter's chin. Very, very quietly he said, "I love you, too," and very, very gently he began to suck at the tender skin, tasting the dust and grime and the scent that was Peter. His tongue darted out periodically to rasp against the stubble that had begun to appear.

He felt Peter's strong hand cradle his head, one thumb stretching to rub away the tears Neal thought he’d hidden. They stayed like that, waiting, silent, together.

Everything they needed to say had been said.

All they could do now was wait. 

END


End file.
